


Options

by gabberjabber



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:16:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabberjabber/pseuds/gabberjabber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy has issues, Dick has a crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grimmy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmy/gifts).



The last of the explosions went off behind him, the heat rushing to meet him and smoke filling his lungs as the metal shrieks and moans, melting in the heat. Coughing he staggers out of the warehouse, skin red round his mask and aflame, Robin drops down from the roof, completely unburned and smirking lopsidedly. Roy waves the smoke from his mask and sends him a glare, “Thanks for the warning Boy Wonder.”

Breathing a little breathlessly, Robin isn’t quite meet Roy’s eyes when he answers, “Three minutes means three minutes S-Speedy,” He stumbles over the mocking name, knees going weak and swaying slightly before catching himself. “It’s not my fault you can’t time manage.” 

Resting his hand on Robin’s shoulder he asks, “You okay Boy Wonder?” The dark shadows he originally thought where just Robin’s ridiculously floppy hair drips onto Roy’s glove, staining it a deeper black. Under the smell of smoke and ash and fire is the coppery scent of blood, Robin sways one last time before collapsing on Roy, and he can feel the smaller nails scrabble to cling to his shirt, Robin’s cheek hot and heavy against his chest. 

“ ’M fine, Shafty. Gimme a second to catch my breath would ya,” the sentence slurs terrifyingly near the end, more vowels than actual words. 

Roy grunts as he picks up Robin, cradling him to his chest, the boy is heavier than he looks. Robin squirms in his arms until he half drops him, catching him around the chest where Robin wraps his legs around his waist, looping his arms over Roy’s shoulders, “Don’t say anything,” Robin mutters into his ear, sounding annoyed and defiant. Admittedly it easier to hold him this way, and now he can use his bow to swing up onto and across rooftops, something Robin probably figured out the instant he fell against Red Arrow.  
Cursing his lack of forethought, Roy jumps from building to building, using his hand to brace Robin’s back when he isn’t using it.

Rain begins to drizzle down, making Roy’s burnt leather gloves smell more strongly. Robin doesn’t move other than to tighten his grip and readjust his legs after each jump, breathing shallow against Roy’s neck. Quickening his pace, Roy is relieved when his apartment looms into the distance.

The fire escape outside his window is slick with rain, putting Robin down he digs his nails to the splintered wood of the window, cursing when the water soaked frame makes the window stick. Robin laughs weakly at him from his position on the floor, even injured and disoriented he makes Roy feel inexperienced. Jamming his elbow on the side of the window and putting his weight into the next tug he manages to wedge the window open, turning to Robin he grabs the boy under his armpits but wriggling slickly, he slips Roy’s grip and glares, or Roy assumes he’s glaring from behind his domino mask. 

“I don’t need to be carried, Speedy” he puts emphasis on the name, making sure Roy knows he’s not pleased. Standing on unsteady feet, Robin wobbles to the window, crashes his head on the half open sill and falls to the ground. Robin’s cheeks flush but he doesn’t say anything when Roy picks him up this time. Maneuvering carefully into the apartment, the boy mumbles something, his lips brushing Roy collar bone as he mouths the words. 

“What was that kid?”, Roy looks around his apartment, sparse but not dirty, the couch still had the clean laundry he had been folding when Robin called him in. Moving into the bedroom he grabs Robin under the legs and around his back, lowering him carefully onto his unmade bed. When he draws back two slivers of blue surrounding blown pupils blink up at him, Robin took off his mask sometime while Roy was carrying him to his room. 

“’M not a kid,” he mumbles, “I said, I think I have a concussion,” dazedly he rubs one eye, “check to see if my eyes are even?” 

Robin has almond shaped eyes and long lashes that curl to meet his cheek when he blinks. One pupil is larger than the other, slipping a flashlight from his pocket he flashes the light into Robin’s eyes, one eye constricts and the other stays blown. 

“Yeah, you got knocked on the head pretty hard,” moving Robin’s hair he fingers the bump, it’s still bleeding slightly and would hurt like hell in the morning but didn’t look too bad, definitely needed stitches though. Pulling the first aid kit from the bedside table he grabs a handful of soft gauze, pressing it to Robin’s forehead. “Let me just go wash my hands, and I’ll stitch you up.” 

Running his hands under the warm water in the sink in his bathroom he watches the soap bubbles swirl down the drain, Robin was only thirteen and he’s already so good at this, this lifestyle, this mission. The mission as a whole, the entire good guys versus bad guys shebang. Roy had been doing this since he was fifteen and had still been play catch up to a ten year old, now three years later and he still made rooky mistakes. Robin shouldn’t have had to blow up the warehouse, Roy shouldn’t have needed rescuing. Drying his hands on the tattered towel, he shakes his hands twice and toeing off his shoes reenters the bedroom. Robin is leaning on the headboard, blood soaking through the white gauze to bloom a bright red. 

“I don’t have any painkillers and alcohol would be a bad idea at the moment,” tugging off his belt, Roy folds it in half before offering it to Robin. The boy grimaces at the taste of ash and sweat the belt is saturated with, but bites down all the same. The hooked needle shines dully as he threads it, the thick black synthetic thread easy to push through the eye. 

The first stitch has Robin let out a muffled curse, the skin reddening when the string pulls taunt, “Does Batman know you use that kind of language?”, Robin curses again to show his displeasure. The leather belt creaks softly as Robin’s molars dig in, the third stitch catching on the jagged skin and pulling roughly. 

“Shit, shit, sorry,” grabbing more gauze blindly Roy presses it to the bleeding skin, seconds slip by as Roy waits for the blood to clot enough for him to continue, Robin’s face is clammy and pale, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin. 

Untangling the thread carefully, Roy swipes his thumb over the first couple stitches soothingly, blood smearing on the pad of his thumb when he touch the rough stitching. Robin winces at the action, batting Roy’s hand away.

“G’ooh ’n”, Robin mutters around the belt, moving his hands in a ‘continue’ gesture. Eight more stitches and Robin’s forehead is stitched up, a few distressed tears roll down Robin’s cheek, which he swipes away as soon as Roy lets go of his face.

Robin’s face and costume are smeared with blood, grabbing a couple of alcohol wipes from the emergency kit he hands them to Robin and goes to his drawers to grab them some clothes that isn’t soaked with Robin’s blood. The heady copper smell makes bile rise in his throat, leaning over the open drawer the smell rushes him as his shirt slips up at the movement.

He pulls out soft cotton shirts and pajama pants, he turns back to Robin. His face is cleaner now but faded smears of blood still mark his face over his nose and forehead, setting the clothes down he takes the alcohol wipe and grabs Robin’s face, the baby fat in his cheeks squish together, and scrubs over the blood. Robin’s face flushes a pretty pink, turning his face out of Roy’s grip he grabs the edge of his costume and pulls off his top, the material catching on his gloves. Roy takes a moment to observe the boy as he wrestles out of the shirt, his thin torso is covered in bruises and when he raises his arms his ribs stick out. The cotton shirt is too big on his when manages to put it on, the collar stretching over his shoulders to showcase his collar bones. Roy looks away when he slips off his pants, but still manages to catch a glimpse of a large hand shaped bruise on his inner thigh; it makes something stir in his chest and an angry flush to redden his face. Regardless of how experienced Robin was, Roy still didn’t like the sight of the bruise, of the thought of someone grabbing the boy there.

Tugging the shirt on over his elbows angrily and shoving his head through the hole he jumps a little when he realizes Robin’s been watching him. The boy’s gaze is intense, his eyes following Roy’s movements, even injured and concussed Robin still catalogues everything, filing away information in his head. Relaxing back onto in elbows the shirt falls up Robin’s stomach showing his sharp hipbones and the scrunched up pants string, tied tightly but still slipping down his skinny frame.

“You can keep the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch,” pulling the sheets from under Robin’s body he covers the boy, smoothing the comforter over his chest. Robin’s hand darts out and grabs Roy’s wrist before he can leave.

“Stay with me?” 

His face contorts into a soft vulnerable expression that Roy had never seen before. Eye down cast and cheeks lightly relaxed, Robin’s dark eyes plead silently. It’s not far that Robin can make that face.

“Okay.”

Gently slipping into the other side of the bed, he makes sure not to touch Robin, sure that he is sore. Robin doesn’t seem to care though, when he grabs Roy’s arm and wraps it around him. 

“Kid?”

Snuggling into Roy’s arm, his butt wriggling as he backs up, Robin presses himself fully against Roy. “I told you, ‘M not a kid.”

Something changes in the air, and Roy shifts uncomfortably as the tension in the room rises. Robin wasn’t a kid, maybe hadn’t been one for a while. “Robin?”

  


Robin’s breathing is steady and light, but definitely not asleep, rolling over in Roy’s arms he looks up through his eyelashes, “I like you.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

Robin looks him in the eye, face mature in a way that Roy doesn’t usually see. “You don’t have to like me back,” he says voice soft, like he’s talking to a frightened animal, “I just wanted you to know the option’s there.” 

Turning back around he snuggles into Roy’s arms one more time before lying still, “Good night Roy.”

“Good night Robin.”


	2. Chapter 2

Roy doesn’t know why he thought Robin would act any differently after his confession. Maybe he was expecting him to be shy or coy or maybe even a little embarrassed, but Robin just flips into a handstand and tumbles off of the roof’s ledge, happy and confident as ever. He makes Roy’s skin feels too small and his insides squirm. It’s probably just a crush, but it makes Roy feel uncomfortable all the same. Which, of course, makes him even more uncomfortable because he never saw himself as the kind of guy to have problem with that kind of thing. Growing up with Ollie he had always suspected that he and Hal had a sort of thing going on when he and Dinah were off again on again, so it’s not like this type of thing is new to him, really he never cared before, but the knots in his stomach tell a different story. Maybe it’s just because Robin is so much younger than him, maybe it’s because he’s Batman’s partner, maybe it’s because Roy held him that night and woke up alone, whatever the reason Roy found it really awkward to be around him anymore.

“Keep up slow poke,” Robin jibes a rooftop away and gaining distance, breaking Roy from his thoughts

Roy grunts nonplussed, and lines up another arrow, the surprised look on Robin’s face when he zips by is worth the trouble it’s going to be to real the line back in.

“Keep up Boy Wonder,” Roy teases back and in that moment it’s almost easy to forget that the other night happened at all. It’s just Roy and Robin hanging out, nothing weird or awkward about it.

“Cheater,” Robin yells, though the laugh that punctuates the sentence lets Roy know that he doesn’t really mind.

Roy can almost pretend that there isn’t this uncomfortable tension between them. Or at least Roy thinks there is because Robin isn’t act like there isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Like he didn’t just drop a bomb shell on Roy and then just leave him to pick up the pieces.

Robin lands next to him in a handspring, leaping up and bowing theatrically for imaginary applause. Roy’s hand reaches out to ruffle his hair only to stop half way there, in an aborted motion. Robin isn’t exactly his kid brother, but he’s the closest thing Roy’s ever had to siblings, and now he can’t even touch him without second guessing his actions. His hand left hanging awkwardly in the air, making Robin’s mouth turn down in annoyance, the first sign he’s shown all day of acknowledging what happening between them.

“I didn’t tell you so that you could be all weird around me.”

Then why did you tell me? He pointedly doesn’t ask.

“Well how exactly did you expect me to react?” Roy knows he sounds defensive, but still he can’t keep the annoyance out of his voice. Eyebrow raised and mouth one hard line. The worst part is that it’s not even Robin’s fault. It’s Roy’s for reacting the way he is.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t be a jerk about it,” Robin pokes Roy in the chest; mask furrowed furiously his mouth drawn up into a scowl.

Roy feels anger pool in his stomach, hot and heavy, “You still like me now?”

Robin’s cheeks flush red and his mouth turns down in embarrassment, a pearl pink outlining the edges of his mask and accentuating his baby fat. Robin barrels into Roy with none of the force of a trained super hero but all the finesse of a pissed off teenage boy, head butting Roy in the stomach. They both crash down onto the rough cement of the roof, Roy chanting a mantra of ‘do you still like me now’ over and over again, angry for no reason that he can name.

They are a tangle of limbs and elbows, mainly Robin’s sharp pointy elbows digging into Roy’s skin and muffled curses. Roy ignores the way that he is basically all over Robin and just concentrates on trying to pin him, but Robin is apparently infinitely jointed and keeps slipping out of Roy’s grasp up until Robin’s head cracks down especially hard on the concrete roof and he curls up on himself as much as he can from underneath Roy.

“Oh shit,” he hadn’t actually meant to hurt him, Roy feels the anger draining out of him and sink low into his belly where it weighs heavy and feels too much like guilt for him to be comfortable with. Robin grits his teeth and hisses, Roy immediately slips his hand under his head and feels his stomach sink even lower when his fingertips comeback red.

“Jesus Roy, don’t you think I have enough stitches?” Which, ow, really hits home because Robin looks so small and pale under him, his forehead barely healing from the other night and bruises still peeping out from under his collar. But then Robin smiles a lopsided (probably concussed) smile and laughs loud and clear and in Roy’s ear and he has no idea what’s happening but he feels answering laughter bubble up in his chest.

“You dick,” Robin lets out a little embarrassing snort at that one, which makes Roy’s ribs ache and if he keeps this up any longer he’ll get hiccups.

This would be the part where Roy is supposed to apologize, but it catches in his throat and refuses to come out. Swallowing hard he looks at Robin and see the remnants of a blush across his cheek bones and feels like the biggest asshole in the world. Robin was just a kid, just a kid with a crush and when it passes they’ll (hopefully) look back on this and laugh.  
Roy sighs deeply and says, “Look I was way out of line, I’m sorry.” Rolling off of Robin he flops next to him at an angle, almost close enough to touch shoulders.

The wind blows quietly and brings the smell of rain with it, dark clouds gather overhead and Roy pretends that he isn’t trying to look at Robin out of the corner of his eye.  
It must not be a subtle as he likes to think because Robin pushes up on his elbows and looks at Roy with a teasing smile, “Yeah, you were.” Smirking slightly he adds, “Now do you have it out of your system?”

Which just makes Roy want to sigh again because if Robin’s being a brat again then they must be on the right track.

“Shut up,” Roy says hitting Robin’s inner elbow so he crashes back to the ground. Robin collapses with an oomf, and that strange little cackling laughter. Rain drizzles down from overhead, blown sideways by the building winds. Robin shrugs getting comfortable, and Roy isn’t sure if the shoulder pressed up against his is deliberate or not, but the pained noise Robin inadvertently made when his head crashed into the cement flashes through his head and he deliberately says nothing.

A crack of thunder and the sky opens up and falls on them, Roy blinks up surprised as the rain plasters his hair to his forehead, blinded momentarily by the flashing lightening. Robin jumps up and tugs on Roy’s wrist, wet cape clinging to his shoulders and arms, “Come on,” Robin shouts over the wind, “We can go to one of the nests until it blows over.”

Slipping on the wet cement Roy catches himself, awkwardly on the ledge of the roof. Robin doesn’t even look back when he dives off the side, flipping twice he spreads his arms and legs out wide and skids down the building walls into the alley, lands on a dumpster and summersaults off. Grumbling, Roy’s not entirely sure if Robin is showing off or if that was just what came most natural to him, it wouldn’t surprise him if I was just a little of both.

\--

The “nest” is actually just an apartment on the rougher side of town, faded brick walls covered in brightly colored scrawls, and a fire escape so old and rusted that Roy doesn’t fully trust it to hold his weight as he tiptoes through the open window after Robin.

The actual room is nicer than the outside would lead to believe. Plush carpet covers most of the ground, a sturdy brown couch and through the half open door Roy can see Robin getting fluffy white towels from a closet in what looks like a decently furnished bedroom, his cape pooled around his feet.

Toeing off his boots, Roy stands awkwardly waiting for some sign of what he should do. Scratching his arm, he winces when his fingers go over tender skin.

“Dude, you bit me?”

Laughing Robin comes out of the room and tosses a towel at Roy’s head, “Hey, it was the heat of the moment.”

Scrubbing the towel through his hair, Roy shakes his head, “Yeah, sure it was. I’m sure it had nothing with you wanting a piece of all this sexiness.” He flexes a muscle to accentuate his point.  
Robin laughs like he was hoping he would, smiling Roy sits on the couch and yawns into a stretch.

“You’re pretty feisty for a little guy, you know that?” Roy hisses as the stretch pulls on a bruise, “And your elbows should be registered weapons.”

Plopping down on the couch Robin peels off his mask, “Trade bat secret,” he cups his mouth and whispers, “Lesson One of Bat Training: How to Sharpen Elbows into Weapons. I’ve been practicing since I was eight.” He smirks teasingly at the brag.

It startles Roy to see Robin’s eyes again, he had figured it would just be a onetime thing, the surprise must show on his face but Robin doesn’t comment.  
“I’m sure that must mean that Lesson Two is something along the lines of how to use weapons as silverware?” He says, thinking back to that time he caught Robin eating icream from the carton with a birdarang.

Grabbing the remote Dick turns on the television, the boom of the explosion on the screen lighting up his face and making his eyes shine out in the dark, “I would confirm but then I’d have to kill you.” He says tapping his finger to his nose.

Yawning behind his hand again Roy settles down to watch the movie, his eyes growing heavy, “I thought that Bats didn’t kill.”

Robin slumps onto his shoulder, cracking his neck noisily. “Well maybe just maim you a bit then.”

Roy hums sleepily, and yawns using the towel to drape over his lap like a slightly damp blanket.

He drifts off to sleep with his shoulder warm where Robin’s head lays on it and the sounds of McClain yelling.

_Yippee ki-yay motherfu-_

\--

The soft haze of the tv wakes him up, the volume muted Roy watches through half lidded eyes as Spongebob and Patrick laugh over something, Squidward yelling angrily in the background. He sprawled out on the couch, one arm hanging off and the moist towel tangled around his legs.

The spot next to him is cooling rapidly and his arms feel strangely empty.

Sitting up Roy, Roy doesn’t know why he was expecting some sort of note of really just something, some sort of goodbye. Anything.

But the only proof he had at all of Robin having been there at all was a cold spot on his chest and an open window.


End file.
